


The Placebo Effect

by kyungsco



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyungsco/pseuds/kyungsco
Summary: Tale #106Minseok just wants to die while Jongdae wishes to feel alive.





	The Placebo Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittenfightfest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenfightfest/gifts).



> After a long-ass ride wait, my Kittenfight! entry is finally here ! Here it is, everyone ! Did anyone anticipate it ? Probably not.  
> Anyway, I would like to thank the Kittenfight! mods for running an amazing fanfiction fest, and dare I say, in the best way it can be handled. They were not only very sweet and understanding and supportive, but they were also very friendly and funny and everything. I wouldn't have pushed through with this story if not for your encouragement. My heart goes out to you. uwu  
> As well, I would like to give a shout-out to my sweet beta, Hornet. I know I've left you hanging for quite some time, but I will never forget your help, m'dude !  
> On the other hand, this story is still unfortunately in the works, so I hope that, whoever reads this will be patient enough to join me in this journey. Hopefully, I will be able to post the next part real soon.  
> A'ight, let's get going now, shall we ? I hope y'alls have fun !

**_T_** _he city looks great from here,_ Minseok thinks.  Across the horizon, Yeouido's many skyscrapers are lit with kaleidoscopic hues, yellows and greens and blues adorning the massive carpet of black as if artificial stars on a shapeless sky.  He drinks in the view, glassy eyes carefully taking in every detail of the truly exceptional panorama.  Yet, the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, because there is nothing great about this.

The railing of Hangang Bridge is too cold under his palms and against his back.  The river is an eternal void several feet beneath.  The faraway look in his eyes has long since reached permanence, and nothing can compare to the coldness enshrouding his heart, not even the wind blowing harshly around him, or the icy depths daunting him from below.

There is _nothing_ great about this.

For just a moment, he dares to take his eyes off the city, and casts a glance towards the water below.  It's not too far from the financial district, but from where he stands, all the lights seem to fade, and the river is a dark, unrelenting abyss.  One that's a little too _inviting_ to be terrifying.

Minseok closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath through his nostrils.

He lets go of the railing.

It's over a hundred-foot drop, and the wind is strong enough to disorient him from his original position, but his feet are quick to pierce the icy water's surface.  His bones jolt as if electrocuted, every tingle accounting for every bone breaking in his legs.  The surface tension slows him, and soon, suffocates him.  He flaps his arms around helplessly, throat and chest muscles contracting uncontrollably as he struggles for air.  Veins pop on his temples and on the side of his throat.  Even through the inky blackness, his eyes stand out, begging, bloodshot from the water stinging them, and the oxygen in his lungs dwindling with every second.

He opens his eyes.

His heart is pounding loudly in his chest, and the only coldness surrounding him is the crisp September air.  He feels something tug at his jacket sleeve.

His grip on the railing slightly falters when he looks behind him.  A boy, whose pale skin deems him a ghost in the darkness, clutches his sleeve with one bony hand.  Minseok regards the boy for a few seconds, returns his attention back towards Yeouido, then towards Hangang.  He looks at the boy.  At Yeouido.  Then Han.

His eyes widen.

A mortified, almost inhuman shriek escapes Minseok, and the stranger's left hand reaches out to join the other, eyes widening in panic.  The former begins to whimper out every prayer known to man, trying with the best of his abilities to quickly scramble over the railing.  It isn't of much help, but the boy's hold on his jacket sleeve doesn't let up, even as Minseok lies face-down on the sidewalk, kissing and sobbing into the concrete.

The boy only lets go when Minseok's cries start to morph into laughter.  Almost along with the loss of contact, the latter pulls himself up on wobbly legs, lips pulled back to reveal a gummy smile, one shining adorably despite the dirt now smudged across his cheeks.  Even in between pants, he finds it hard to stop laughing.

"Fuck," he drags on disbelievingly, gaze towards an empty spot in front of him.  He turns towards the hooded figure. " _Fuuuuuuuck_."

After seconds of remaining a stoic spectre, Minseok almost frowns, but the wind blows back the hood pulled over the stranger's head, revealing a slightly confused but certainly cute smile.  He looks like the _Bitch Please_ meme just witnessed a heinous crime.  Minseok laughs again. "Well, that's just rude.  You're not going to say anything?"

Something flashes in the boy's face, perhaps contemplation, as his eyes momentarily flutter towards the ground, impossibly long lashes brushing over prominent cheekbones.  He makes eye contact again, and suddenly, Minseok finds it hard to look away.

"I don't… understand," he says, chest heaving as if every syllable exhausted him. "Why you're laughing when you just almost died."

"There's nothing to understand," Minseok replies, all hints of mirth suddenly gone from his face. "I wasn't going to die.  I was… bungee jumping."

"In the middle of September.”

"What about it?" Minseok demands indignantly. "I wanted to try something new.  I can take care of myself.  I wasn't going to die."

The boy's pale lips twitch upwards, but he's scoffing. "You screamed like you were."

"I _wasn't_." Minseok scoffs back, placing both hands on his hips. "Who even _are_ you?  You don't know me."

"I'm… Kim Jongdae," the boy says, eyes oddly solemn.  His gaze flickers downwards, away from Minseok.  He glances down at the pavement, up at the city behind him, then to the wide expanse of inky blackness beyond. "And no, I don't know you.  But I know what you are.  You're a very impatient man.  You're the type of person who just want things over with.  You want it all done quickly, because you, yourself, have never experienced anyone waiting for you."

Minseok's expression softens.  Jongdae exhales, looking back at the elder with a feline smile.

"You're a man who can't wait for the end."

 

-

 

What's so great about the few square feet of dingy, barely liveable apartment room is that there’s easy access to an amazing breakfast.  The bed space is directly above this quaint bakeshop whose pastries are something Minseok just can’t get enough of, and the proximity is surely a blessing, because he can never run late for his below-the-minimum-wage fast-food job when all he has to do every groggy morning is grab a croissant off the counter (and yell over his shoulder a promise to pay later as he frantically sprints towards the exit).

He’s fortunate enough to have this kind elderly couple as landlords.  They’d sometimes pretend to forget about his dues, even allow him to stay past closing time so he can have all the leftover coffee in the brewer for himself.  They know he’s struggling; he can tell by the sympathetic looks they send him whenever they think he doesn’t notice.  But he does.

He doesn’t say anything, because even _he_ pities himself.

Minseok isn’t sure why, but as they walk through Hangang Bridge towards Yongsan-gu, strangers they may be in every sense of the word, he tells Jongdae about these things.  He tells him about his ugly room—the ugly view from his window, the ugly ceiling, the ugly walls, the ugly life lived within.  He’s been wanting to do a redecoration, he says.  But his job in Itaewon pays so bad he can’t even afford the smallest can of paint.

“Leave it, then,” Jongdae suggests, waving a dismissive hand at the other. “There are other things worth your time.”

Minseok wishes there were, but no one else would take him in.  He thinks this shitty job is the least shitty thing he can get, or the _only_ thing he can get, for the matter.  “I don’t have to,” he scoffs bitterly. “I already lost it.”

“ _Ha_ , let me guess.  You were employee of the month for the whole year, even the boss got so jealous he got you fired.”

“No, I…” Minseok bites his lip, not wanting to burst Jongdae’s bubble.  He starts wringing his hands out of habit. “I hurled searing-hot cooking oil at my boss’s face.”

The immediate response is a groan.  Minseok’s face flushes red, looking up embarrassedly, only to gasp when he sees Jongdae’s hunched form.  The latter grabs onto the railing, closes his eyes, and starts breathing heavily.  He slowly raises one hand as if to hold onto or maybe gesture something, but he seems to decide against it, letting his hand drop limply at his side.

Minseok carefully places a hand on Jongdae’s shoulder.  “What’s wrong?”

Jongdae ignores him, instead turning towards the city, away from his companion, perhaps to hide another groan that rises up his throat.  He’s a little too short to comfortably prop his elbows up the railing, so he looks almost slung helplessly over the metal, like one would over rickety crutches.  With the way he looks so crumpled and broken, it could easily be the same thing.  Minseok shudders.

There’s silence between them for a while, and then there’s Jongdae’s voice, loud and quiet and shrill and deep all at the same time.  It’s barely noticeable at first, but as it sails over the distant buzz of Yeouido across the horizon and Icheon-dong below, a mellow song interlaced with the rhythmic, constant thrum of the cars that whizzed by, Minseok listens.  It starts with, “I… I may look young, but I–uh, I’m–I’m turning twenty-six in a few days.” and continues with things like, “I’m gonna have a party by then.  Nothing too fancy, just a little something-something between friends.  Maybe you can come.  You _should_ come.  It’ll be fun.” and “Have you been to that city?  I’ve always wanted to go there, but my friend always tells me no.  I ask him if we can go swimming in Hangang instead, but he also tells me no.  He never lets me do fun stuff―wait, _you’re_ fun, right?  You go bungee jumping.  Maybe you can take me instead.”

A fascinated chuckle leaves Minseok; he would normally be exhausted by such a fast-paced conversation, but oddly, he felt at ease.  He didn’t have to talk anyway, and Jongdae seems more than happy to continue opening up more and more conversational topics that he doesn’t plan on closing.  He rambles, Minseok listens.  He laughs at his own jokes, Minseok laughs along.

It’s somewhere along the climactic bridge of their little ballad that they get interrupted, arrhythmic taps unceremoniously inserting itself into their quiet symphony.  And as far as interruptions go, it only remains ignored for something less than three seconds until the duet looks up, expressions deemed musicians cut off in the middle of their long-awaited crescendo.

Their little disruption comes in the form of someone perhaps even _littler_ , a spectre in the dark with a bouncing head of blonde hair as its only defining feature.  Minseok narrows his eyes to get a better look, only to discover not too soon after that he isn’t so wrong—the figure _had_ been as minute as they seemed, a blonde-haired boy with a sweater two sizes too big and a face many shades too red to be considered normal.  He bends his knees when he gets close enough, clutching one with a slender hand, and signalling them to wait with another.

“I’m—Byun—Baekhyun,” he manages between breaths. “I see—you’ve—found my—friend—here.”

Minseok is only able to respond with an unsure nod before the boy is talking again.

“So, where have you been this time?” He chastises, this time directed towards the hooded boy standing so quietly beside Minseok.

“Nowhere you’d go,” Jongdae mumbles, hint of mockery in his voice. This seems to rile Baekhyun up.

“See, this is the reason why we can’t go anywhere!  This–this–this attitude!”

“The reason why we can’t go anywhere is because you don’t want to!” Jongdae fights back, startling Minseok. “You’re always all, ‘ _oh Jongdae_ , what about next time?  Don’t you like it here? It’s fun here.  Let’s stay here instead.’  But it’s not fun at all, Baekhyun, because you’re no fun!”

“Oh, now it’s _my_ fault?” Baekhyun scoffs, placing his hands on his waist. “We end up not going anywhere because you’re always disappearing off to somewhere!  I can never trust you!”

“You don’t want to go places with me anyway, might as well go on my own, _right_??” Jongdae seethes, advancing from behind Minseok and grabbing the latter’s sleeve rather harshly. “You don’t trust me because you’re–you’re just stuck-up!”

“Really, Jongdae?  _Stuck-up_?  Real mature.” Baekhyun laughs dryly, shaking his head. “You’ve disappeared for nearly two hours, and this is what you give me?  I almost had a heart attack, for fuck’s sake!”

Jongdae’s grip on Minseok slightly falters, causing the latter to look back at him.  His eyes have always seemed serious, his smile never quite reaching them, but now, there’s a sort of solemnity in them that Minseok couldn’t quite pinpoint.  From this distance, his eyes are diamonds, Minseok thinks.  So precious, and yet they look so much like broken glass.

Baekhyun immediately quiets.  Minseok can only shuffle his feet awkwardly.

 

The formerly unknown spectre that is now Byun Baekhyun stands a good few feet from Jongdae and Minseok.

Though his sweater still looked a little too big and his hair still bounced along with every movement, he’s now a completely different person, at least to Minseok.  He’s no great judge of character, but those mellow eyes, soft cheeks, and sweet smile could’ve easily fooled anyone.  After all, no one in their right mind would come forward and immediately introduce themselves as a villain.  Even the devil was once an angel.

Not that Baekhyun’s any devil.  It just really shocked Minseok that awfully piercing words would ever come out of such pretty lips.

For now, said pretty lips have quieted, and Minseok’s thankful for that, because the momentary silence allows him a clearer headspace.  But there’s another set of pretty lips that have also gone quiet, but Minseok’s not at all happy about that.

He finally wills himself to look away from the boy attempting to—a little too enthusiastically—hail a cab, and casts a worried glance towards the boy to his left.  Jongdae has his hood pulled over his head again, preventing Minseok from seeing his expression, but the latter can tell that he’s still upset.  There’s him desperately wanting to explore and try new things, but Minseok has a feeling that the previous argument is more than just about bungee jumping and swimming and going places.

He barely knows these people, but _fuck_ , how he wishes he does.

Minseok could jump in right now and waste the rapport he’s managed to build with Jongdae, but he can’t fuck this up; he knows that jumping in while the water’s still too hot would be foolish.  He should realize that immediately wanting to know him would be taking things too fast, and that there’s still a great deal of surface that needs to be scratched off.  So he looks up at Jongdae again, and instead of trying to see beyond the wall of oversized jacket hoods and dishevelled hair that hid obscured truths and untold secrets, Minseok simply tries to look at the superficial physicality of it all.

And as if he’s just now truly seeing, Minseok notices how Jongdae shivered with every soft whisper of the wind, stance defensive and hunched as if he’s pretending to not be bothered by the cold.  Instinctively, he shuffles closer to Jongdae, allowing their shoulders to touch and their hands to slightly brush.  Jongdae looks up, eyes burning holes into Minseok’s almost accusingly, but the latter tries his best to not seem any more flustered than he already is.  Their gazes hold for what seems like hours until Minseok breaks the contact, looking away, and blinking several times as if it’ll remove the burning sensation spreading through his skin like wildfire.  And then, with all the dignity and bravery left in his body and soul, he casually slings an arm around Jongdae, pulling him closer to his side.  The latter freezes as if electrocuted, but soon, almost contemplatively, melts like butter against Minseok’s warm body.  He has never felt so victorious in his entire life.

Neither says anything for a long time, allowing their little song to reach its finale.  There’s the aria of screeching tires and car doors opening, and then Baekhyun’s interrupting them again.

 

-

 

Located in the Heuksok District, the Chung-ang University Hospital houses simply nothing but the best medical facilities and exceptionally skilled staff, making it one of the most prestigious university hospitals in Seoul.  That’s common knowledge, Minseok thinks, but what he fails to comprehend is what they’re doing there.  He looks between his glum-looking companions and the looming hospital buildings, and suddenly, he wonders if they were there to shoot a horror movie.  He’s half-expecting someone to shout, “cut!” from the bushes, but of course that doesn’t happen.  There’s only Jongdae sighing heavily beside him, previously curled lips now pressed into a thin line; and there’s only Baekhyun looking at his friend in pity, one slender hand on the small of his back leading him inside.

The receptionist barely regards them, dazed eyes focused on her computer screen—the green reflected on her glasses tell Minseok that she’s probably playing solitaire or something—but as they walk past, she sniggers with something that can be considered menace, and Baekhyun whips around, looking like he wants to bite her head off.  “Leave it.” Jongdae pleads weakly.  Baekhyun grumbles something about untrustworthiness under his breath, quickly whipping back around to flip her off, but Jongdae catches his hand and shakes his head.  Minseok can only watch in confusion.

Said person regards his surroundings with quiet hostility, eyes twitching every few seconds as if something will jump at him at any time.  Their journey through the hospital’s labyrinthine halls seems to take forever, the sound of nothing but their footsteps echoing through the emptiness stretching seconds into hours, hours into days, and days into centuries, and it irks Minseok to no end.  He’s never liked hospitals, and truth be told, this is the first time he’s been to one since he sprained his ankle in sixth grade football.

They finally stop in front of a door marked _E21_.  Minseok would’ve let out a breath of relief, but Baekhyun pushes the door open, and they are greeted by harsh whisper-shouts, which immediately quiet when the door swings open and slams loudly against the wall.

Inside the room, there’s a messy bed at the center, an equally messy table beside it, a small fridge and some cabinets against the left wall, and a worn-out sofa bed on the right.  On the sofa bed sits a flustered boy, and standing over him is a stern but certainly handsome man in a lab coat.  Both look up upon the trio’s entrance, who are left to stand frozen in the doorway.

“Kim Junmyeon-seonsaengnim,” Baekhyun acknowledges quietly, tone as if the man’s existence itself was a total bombshell on the earth’s inhabitants.

“Speak of the devil,” the man scoffs, placing both hands on his hips. “Mr. Kim, nice of you to join us.”

“Abort,” Baekhyun side-mouths, starting to slowly back away, but this doesn’t go unnoticed by the doctor.

“You too, Mr. Byun.  No wonder Mr. Kim’s disappeared in thin air again.” He laughs, but there’s nothing humorous about it. “Now, because _someone_ ”—he snaps towards the boy on the sofa bed, who shrinks back in response—“keeps on insisting he doesn’t know, will you please enlighten us as to where you’ve been?”

When no one answers, the man tries again, voice louder. “Mr. Byun?”

“Th-th-the–um,” Baekhyun immediately uprights, seemingly losing most of the confidence Minseok’s seen him previously oozing in. He contemplates a lie, but quickly decides against it. “The H-Han… River Bridge.”

“The Han River Bridge, I see,” Doctor Kim laughs that humorless laugh again, voice trailing off in inaudible mutters.  Minseok clears his throat, thinking they’ve gotten the last of it, but his companions are only getting ready for the worst.

“The Han. River. _BRIDGE_??”

Ah, there it is.

“Do you have any idea how cold it is there right now?  Seven degrees, boys, seven degrees!  Mr. Kim could’ve gotten a cold, or worse, pneumonia!  What about the effects of the stress and fatigue of going there?  Oh, that’s right.  Another trip to the ER!  We all _want_ that, don’t we?  On top of that, he missed his medications and required intake of _dextrorotatory glucose_.“

“ _Talk human_ ,” Baekhyun feigns a cough but clearly fails.

“Oh now you want to talk smart with me, Mr. Byun?  Well, let me give you a piece of my mind…”

Again, Minseok can only stand there awkwardly as the two argue, ears beginning to subconsciously tune out the rest of the sermon.  His right eye twitches cartoonishly as he looks around the room for some kind of salvation, only to find none, but Jongdae’s presence comes close.  The latter looks more exhausted than ever, but as he crawls into the hospital bed, he’s somehow managed to end all wars, at least in that particular place.

“I’d probably die faster lying in this damn bed,” he mumbles, voice somehow managing to tower over all the noise, and the bickering pair quiets.  He pulls the covers over his body, momentarily turning his back from everyone.

“We should leave Mr. Kim so he can have his rest,” comes a voice, and suddenly someone’s hands, small but insistent, are pushing Baekhyun and Minseok out of E21.  It’s the boy from the sofa bed—whom, according to his name plate, Minseok discovers to be one Nurse Doh Kyungsoo—who now seems like a totally different person, what with the way his formerly slouched shoulders are now squared toughly, and the way his previously furrowed caterpillar brows framing huge, terrified eyes are now thick bushes of doom accenting what has got to be the world’s most daunting death glare.

Baekhyun raises his palms as if in surrender. “Sheesh.  Sorry, _Satan_.  No need to resort to violence.”

Used to the elder’s antics, Kyungsoo tones down the glare and sighs, “Baekhyun…”

Baekhyun smiles innocently, tapping the nurse’s nose as if chastising a child. “That’s Baekhyun-hyung to you.”

“I’m not calling you hyung,” Kyungsoo grumbles, swatting away the intruding hand and rubbing his nose. “We’re not even friends.”

“Well, that’s because we’re _best friends_ , right?”

“Baekhyun…”

“Baekhyun _-hyung._ ”

“Oh, give me a break—”

“Kim Minseok-ssi?”

All three boys turn towards Doctor Kim, whose gravelly voice paints his usual non-emotion as concerning.  Kyungsoo suddenly looks fearful again, now using his whole torso to push Baekhyun out of the room when he still refused to budge.  Doctor Kim momentarily casts them a disapproving glare before giving Minseok a pat on the shoulder and exiting.

“ _Heyyyyy_ , Minseok,” Jongdae greets drowsily, attempting an enthusiastic wave, but only managing to flail like a tranquilized octopus.  He giggles. “How–how you doing, b- _buddyyyyy_?”

“Um,” Minseok clears his throat, giving Jongdae a look. “I’m–I’m fine.  And you?”

“I’m–I’m doing great!  This is great, life is great.  Did you know that Doctor Kim wouldn’t let me see you?  I mean, what a p-prick, right?  But we had a deal, so it’s _aaaaaaaaall_ cool. Told him I’d let him put this Melon Tonic in me if I get to talk to you.  We had a deal.  It’s _aaaaall coooool_.”

Minseok blinks, unsure what to say.

“S-sorry.  It’s this,“ Jongdae flaps around again, somehow tangling the IV cord around his wrist. “This thing.  Melon Tanning, I think it’s called. Melting Tonic? Melancholy?  I don’t know.  But it g-gets me sleepy and shit—ah, s-sorry.”

Minseok chuckles, moving to take a seat beside the hospital bed. “I think you meant melatonin.”

“ _Psh_ , melancholy, melatonin, whatever,” Jongdae waves his arms about, managing to get more and more of the IV wrapped around him.  Minseok grimaces, instinctively reaching out to free his acquaintance. “They’re all the same; both make me sleep, y-y’know?”

Once disentangled, though seemingly impossible considering his current lack of basic motor skills, Jongdae expertly twists his wrist, grabbing onto Minseok’s sleeve with one quick maneuver.  Eyes ablaze with something Minseok cannot quite comprehend, his hand slowly slides to grab onto the elder’s.

Minseok carefully tries to get out of the hold, but man, sleepy Jongdae sure has a lot of strength in him.  Fingers interlace with smaller ones, sending an electric feeling across Minseok’s palm and up his arm, setting his face on fire.

“I like you, hyung.”

Minseok grows nervous.  _Uh, what?_

“You’re pretty chill, so I like you.”

_Oh._

“I!  I like you too!  Y-you’re nice.  And… and–uh, chill too, I-I guess.”

Jongdae giggles, lips curling upwards into a lazy smile.

“T…thanks for today, h-hyung.  I’ll… s…ee you?”

As the boy slowly succumbs to sleep, Minseok stares at their intertwined hands, contemplating how it’s possible for a stranger’s hand to fit so perfectly in his.  Jongdae’s hold lightens, but Minseok doesn’t seem to want to let go.

“No, thank you.”


End file.
